The Hanging Tree
by InxSovietxRussia
Summary: Are you, are you coming to the tree? Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me. Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be, if we met up at midnight in the hanging tree. Hetalia/Hunger Games crossover.
1. Prologue

Hello! This is my first published story on . I'm not terribly excited about this prologue, because it's really a lot of introductions. But I assure you, it will become much more interesting.

This story is entitled "The Hanging Tree". It is a Hetalia/Hunger Games crossover. Strange combination, perhaps, but I have high hopes for it. I am going to rate it M for severe violence, gore, character death, and Romano's potty mouth.

I hope you enjoy!

* * *

"Bloody hands

don't compare to

Bloody minds

when happiness and death collide."

-_Unknown._

_

* * *

_

The new government was supposed to be different. Things were supposed to change when the Capitol fell. Paylor was supposed to be better than Snow. But things didn't always turn out the way they were supposed to, and every person between the ages of twelve to eighteen in all thirteen of the districts knew that, knew it with a clarity that would have taken their breath away, had they not been holding it already. Twenty-five years after the new regime had taken hold, and still, still they were being subjected to this. And that was when the screens flickered to life. Every face in Panem turned towards the glow, washing them all in a ghostly light that made them look pale, sickly.

"Welcome to the one-hundredth annual Hunger Games!"

No cheers were heard from the crowd. How had this happened? Where had they gone so astray from their glorious plans of revolution? No one dared blink as the dreaded box was brought forth, and they took a deep breath in unison as a deceptively harmless-looking note card was pulled. A slight frown crossed the features of their President, and she turned for a moment, whispering into an earpiece. With a light shrug, she turned back to the crowds with a brilliant smile.

"As always, the Quarter Quell is unlike any other! In these games, all tributes will be selected from a select group among the districts...those in relationships! Once one name is called, both partners in the relationship will become the tributes selected for the honor of representing their District in this most spectacular version of our games. Welcome to the fourth Quarter Quell...and may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

**xXx**

Roderich Edelstein sat quietly at his piano. The drawing was hours past, and there was nothing to be done of it now. His fingers were poised lightly, skillfully on the keys, but not a single note rang out, and slowly, slowly, he closed the lid and folded his hands in his lap. Somewhere in their fairly large home, he could hear Elizabeta busily cooking, cooking. She'd been cooking for hours. He knew she did it to keep her hands and mind busy, knew she would bake until she was sure she would not break down. The woman was strong-stronger than he, by far-but this was a death sentence, and no one could take it lightly. Their District, District 1, was favored by the Capitol as it always had been, even under the new rule-but that did not exempt them from the games. No one was exempt from these games, even the Capitol itself. And though he felt sorry for himself and Elizabeta, he felt even sorrier for the couple straight from the Capitol-they were sacrifices to keep the masses happy, to ensure an air of equality to the games, and nothing more. The Capitol tributes never lived long, unused to fighting for survival, unused to weaponry or hunger or thirst.

But worrying for them would not help him. Perhaps their deaths would keep him alive, and if not him, more hopefully his wife. Roderich did not expect to make it out of the games. Though clever, his creativity lay with music, and he doubted he could merely lull their enemies to sleep with a lullaby-especially considering the near impossibility of there being a piano in the arena. With a soft sigh, he stood and straightened his clothes. Time to retrieve Elizabeta before she cooked all of the food. He would like one last decent breakfast the next morning before going to Hell.

**xXx**

"I can't believe we're doing this."

"Shut up, it was your 'awesome' idea."

"Yeah, well, it worked didn't it? You can thank me later."

"Like hell I will."

"Kept your pretty little girl out of this, didn't I?"

"Don't talk about her like that, or you won't make it to the Games."

"Aww, that's no way to treat your awesome lover, is it Vash?"

Vash rolled over and pressed the barrel of his pistol between the eyes of the smug looking albino. He'd never really liked the man-too arrogant, boastful, and far too lewd to ever be around Lili. However, he slowly put the pistol away and huffed lightly, rolling back over. The other man did likewise, so they lay back to back. This time, the albino's voice was regretful.

"Look, I know this isn't the best of circumstances, but they never would have believed it if you'd slept at home."

Vash looked disdainfully around the trashed house, shaking his head in disgust. "You could have at least cleaned up. I swear, you're such a pig."

The other boy shrugged lightly, grinning some. "Ah, what does it matter? I'm not ever coming back here again, and we both know it. Even if you make it back, I don't think you'll ever come back here either, so it's just one night."

A grim silence sank over the two men. Gilbert feigned sleep until he heard the blond's breathing slow and deepen, then relaxed a little. The petite man and himself had never seen quite eye to eye on anything-and it wasn't just because of the height difference, no matter how much he liked to tease Vash about it. In this one matter, however, it seemed both of them had been thinking the same thing. Perhaps years of working together in the gun factories had put at least some of their thoughts in sync. When every couple had been called to put forth their names-and oh, but how thorough the Peacekeepers had been, making sure no one was spared-Gilbert had known he couldn't let that sweet, trembling girl beside Vash into the games. She'd be killed immediately. What an easy target.

There had been no resistance when he'd pushed her lightly behind him and written his name down beside Vash's, though he had not missed the look of surprise from the blond.

The thing was, while Gilbert had never been completely right in the head, and acted otherwise, he had a strong sense of morality-and this Quarter Quell had been the cruelest possible one he could imagine. He knew how much Vash cared for Lili, and if the man had been unable to protect her in the games...well, Gilbert had lost enough people that he did not want to see that again.

Things would be rocky for a while, but...if he could keep Vash alive, and send him back to his Lili, then he could count his life well spent. Reaching over the side of the bed, he brought a beer-warm, not that he cared-to his lips, and drained it. Fitfully, he closed his eyes and forced himself to sleep.

**xXx**

The tea had gone cold, and the two sat quietly staring down at their cups, small, simple and wooden, but smooth and slightly worn from constant use. There was nothing to say, really. Kiku looked over at his companion. They'd been fighting recently, and the strain of being chosen as tributes certainly had not helped matters. Yao's fingers were clutching at a small plush creature-something called a panda, apparently. They only existed in history books, but the feminine-looking man had fallen in love with them at his first glimpse of a picture of one. Kiku glanced up only briefly, then quietly stood and moved over to a small box, lifting out of it a camera. With a slow smile, he turned and brought it to eye level, pointing it directly at Yao. And despite their situation, and previous arguments-the man smiled, a small, sad smile. A single flash could be glimpsed from the window, and then the silent house went dark.

**xXx**

The orphans' 'mother' was choking back tears as she tucked the two little boys into bed. And that's all they were, really-boys. Snuggled together against the slight chill in their home, already fast asleep. At only twelve, neither one of them really knew the severity of their situation. How could their innocent, young, playful love be considered a relationship? How could the Capitol be so cruel? With another hushed sob, she stroked back blond hair, and lightly removed a sailor's cap from Peter's head. How angelic he looked when he slept. And Raivis, tightly holding his hand, his pale face troubled; the poor boy never slept easily, and trembled when anyone older than he came around. How long could he possibly last in such a place as the arena? Careful not to let her tears fall on the two boys, she lightly kissed each of their foreheads and exited the room, hand over her mouth lest she scream.

**xXx**

Beer was no comfort to the man right now, and he watched as the auburn-haired boy he shared his bed with twisted himself in the sheets, hugging a pillow since his lover was not yet in his customary place. Ludwig sighed softly. When he'd tried to tell the boy that they would be playing in the games, he'd not understood.

_"Games? I love games!"_

_"N-no Feli...it's not that sort of-"_

_"We're going to win, right Ludwig? No one can beat you!"_

_"...Yes, Feliciano. We're going to win."_

He hadn't had the heart to tell him otherwise. What a fragile thing the boy was-if he'd known the truth, he would have been an emotional wreck. It was better to let him sleep. There would be plenty of time to break down when the soldiers came to get them in the morning. He'd been fighting with himself all night. Somewhere, deep down, he knew it would be kinder simply to kill the boy than force him through the horrors of the arena. But would he be strong enough to do that? Or could he...maybe. If he was strong enough, he could protect him. And no one could match Feliciano's skill in avoiding things he did not want-the boy could run like the wind if he thought danger was about. With Feli's evasiveness, and his strength, perhaps at least one of them could make it out alive...and if it ended up being just the two of them left? Well...he'd kill himself. With that decision firmly in mind, he put the beer down and moved to their shared bed, slipping under the covers and immediately being wrapped in the other's arms.

**xXx**

"We can take one thing, right?"

"A token, yes."

"What kind of token? I mean, can it be anything useful?"

"If it can be used as a weapon, they'll take it from us."

"So no medicines?"

"No, they'd be considered an advantage. We'll have to hope we're quick enough to be able to grab some of those at the Cornucopia, if they're provided."

"No syringes either?"

"You're kidding me."

"Oh fine...but you can't bring that bear either."

"K-Kumajirou? W-why not, eh?"

Alfred sighed and smacked the other boy lightly on the head. "Because he'll just distract us and slow us down!"

Rubbing lightly at his forehead, Matthew pouted, clinging to his white bear. It was, perhaps, childish to want to bring the stuffed animal along, but it had been his sole friend for years-not including Alfred, of course. But unlike Alfred, the bear was a wonderful listener. And didn't speak nearly so much.

"...doesn't matter, because I'm the hero!"

A soft sigh. "Yes, yes, you're the hero. Let's get some sleep, eh. We're going to need it."

"Alright...hey, Mattie-do you think they'll have burgers in the arena?"

Matthew shook his head. It was going to be a long night.

**xXx**

Ivan had locked himself in the bathroom. Again. How in the world had he not noticed her signing them up? Was the girl so mad that she'd entered them into a death match simply to lay a false claim to him in front of all of Panem? It would seem so. He curled more tightly into himself as he heard her soft breathing once more outside the door.

"Ivan? Ivan? Come out, Ivan. I want to hug you. We should go find the priest. There are married couples going into the games. Shouldn't we be married too? That would be wonderful."

He twisted his scarf nervously in his hands. Standing at over six feet tall, and over two-hundred pounds, Ivan was a formidable man. And yet that girl, so much smaller than him, had somehow driven him to hide himself in a dark bathroom. She terrified him. She was insane, completely insane, and no one believed him when he told them that.

"Natalia, please, please go to sleep." He murmured unhappily, pressing his back against the tub. However, this only seemed to encourage her, and now the doorknob was rattling.

"We have to be married! There are married couples in the game! I won't let them outdo us! We have to show Panem how in love we are! Come out and marry me!"

The screeching and rattling continued, and Ivan merely settled himself in for a long night. He had a feeling she wouldn't stop until the Peacekeepers came at sunrise.

**xXx**

"Would they let us bring a tarp?"

"I...doubt it. They'd probably think of it as...an advantage."

The bearded man frowned slightly, sifting through rolls of cloth. Everyone was allowed to bring a token from home. Something to represent them. But if it couldn't be anything obviously useful in the games, then what would it be? He glanced over at the other man, frowning at him. "Heracles, you're not even paying attention."

And he wasn't really. He was on his back, both eyes closed, fingers lazily stroking the fur of his cat. One eye opened slowly. "I...am. Don't you think we should...get some sleep, Sadiq?"

Sadiq sighed and rolled his eyes, standing and dropping the cloth he'd been holding and crossing his arms. "We're both going to die if you just try to sleep your way through the games."

But it was no use. The brunette had already gone to sleep. With a frustrated noise, he turned his back on the man and went back to sorting through their possessions.

**xXx**

"Stealth or force?"

"Stealth, if we can manage it. We're hunters, not barbarians."

"I suppose you have a point." It was only on a night like this that Arthur would concede a point. Verdant hues flickered up to meet aqua ones, and he saw the relief mirrored there. Neither one of them wanted a fight tonight. There would be plenty of fighting in the days to come. Almost timidly, their hands reached out and their fingers laced together, knotting at the thumbs. Foreheads met, and they lowered their eyes.

"What chances do we have?" Francis's voice was grim, the blond's eyes closed, hair falling slightly into his face, most of it held back by a single red ribbon.

"Better than most, given our profession."

Better than most, however, still wasn't high, and they both knew it. As one they stood, and while Francis made one half-hearted grab at Arthur's ass, he missed, and they both ended up tangled in bed, clinging to each other. Francis was muttering what Arthur was sure were sweet nothings in his ear, but he couldn't understand him. He spoke in a language no one used anymore, something he'd picked up in all his reading, he was sure. He fell asleep to the sound of a lullaby that for once, he wish he understood.

**xXx**

"Why'd you sign us up, you goddamn bastard?" The screaming was to prevent the tears. So was the bowl that crashed beside Antonio's head. Or at least, he hoped so, because Lovino looked absolutely murderous.

"_¡Dios mio!_L-look Lovi, I didn't have a choice! Didn't you see the Peacekeepers? Everyone knows about us, there was no getting out of i-" He grimaced and ducked as a knife found it's way buried into the wall. He was lucky Lovino was such a bad shot.

"That's no excuse, damn it! How could you? We're going to fucking die in those games, don't you get it?" But the anger was already subsiding, and no matter how he fought them, the tears were spilling down his cheeks, and Antonio was moving forward. He wrapped the auburn-haired boy in his arms.

"Shh...shh...It will be alright. I will take care of us. I've been protecting you for years, haven't I?"

Lovino reluctantly nodded, allowing himself to be drawn into the safety of those strong, tan arms. It was true-Antonio had never let him down, or deserted him, no matter how badly he treated him. Why should anything change now?

"Come to the kitchen. I'll make you some tomato soup, and we'll talk." Lovino whimpered. Tomato soup-a rare luxury for them. Despite working in the agricultural industry, they rarely ever got enough to eat. He knew Antonio had to have stolen the tomatoes...risked his life. He couldn't refuse him. With a soft whimper, he followed him to the kitchen. But the prospect of food comforted him. Perhaps...perhaps they would make it after all.

**xXx**

The smaller man wiped the coal dust carefully from the older man's face, frowning slightly. "Are you sure you are okay? You didn't inhale any, did you?" That was the last thing they needed, for Berwald to develop a breathing problem due to coal dust the day before they entered the arena.

"No. 'm f'ne, T'no." If his hands weren't also coated with the dust, he'd want to hug the fair boy, but he seemed to know what he wanted anyway. Tino curled against the larger man, continuing to wipe affectionately at the man's face. His voice trembled when he spoke, a mere whisper in the small, cramped quarters of their home...a shack, really.

"If you win, you won't ever have to go back to the mines."

"'f I w'n, 'd r'th'r g' b'ck t' th' m'nes."

"Don't say that!"

Tino was clutching to him now, crying softly. He knew there was no chance of them both making it out alive. He'd heard there had been a couple like that once, that both had made it out of the arena alive, but that had been years ago, and the stunt would not be repeated. The new Capitol would rather there be no winner at all than to have two. And he just wasn't sure if he would ever be able to live with himself without Berwald. But there were plenty of ways to die in the arena...if something were to happen to Berwald, it would be oh so easy for something to happen to him as well.

"'m s'rry, w'fe."

Tino didn't answer. He only had one hope, one reason to keep going. He'd hold tightly to that hope, and do all he could to make sure Berwald was the one to make it out of the arena.

**xXx**

District 13 was busy. There was, of course, no way to save the two tributes from going into the games, but they could be well equipped. They'd all been slightly trained in this-it was only bad luck that two scientists had been chosen. They were now conversing lightly. 'In a relationship' was perhaps the wrong term for them-there really wasn't much romantic chemistry between them, but they worked flawlessly as a team. Well, when Yong Soo wasn't staring at and/or commenting on how well-endowed Katyusha was.

"We'll make it, won't we?"

"Of course we will. I'm sure I helped design some of obstacles in the arena. Surely I can get us past them."

A slight touch of arrogance to his voice-but Katyusha appreciated it and found his confidence comforting. They were poring over equations at the moments. It would be incomprehensible to anyone not in their field, but they could read it with ease. They could hear footsteps outside of their room, people bustling, trying to decide what they could or could not take with them. Naturally, it could not be anything that would help them win, but perhaps if it was carefully concealed, they could pass it through the inspection...

There would be no sleeping for them tonight. They had much more important matters to attend to.

**xXx**

In the Capitol, Jeanette was staring numbly at a wall. She was all cried out, and there were still stains from her tears on her cheeks, now dry.

"I'm sorry." Claire looked over at the brunette, saying the words for the hundredth time. They had to have lost all meaning by now, but she couldn't stop herself from saying them. After all, it was her name that had been drawn, not Jeanette's. It had been her death sentence that had drawn the other girl in. With trembling hands, she moved over to cup Jeanette's cheeks, looking for a response, any kind of response. She'd barely said anything since the drawing, and it was beginning to frighten the guilt-ridden girl.

"Please speak to me." Jeanette blinked slightly and gazed up. Claire's eyes were a mix between pale blue and light grey-they were eye-catching, and anything eye-catching in the Capitol was a good thing. A slight smile touched her lips.

"I...I'm fine. We're going to be alright. We'll protect each other, right?"

A soft sigh of relief. Claire blinked slowly and smiled as well, nodding and planting a light kiss on each of the girl's warm brown eyes, momentarily closed. "Yes...yes, we're going to be fine." Slowly, she lowered Jeanette to the bed, wrapping her firmly in her arms and kissing the top of her head, staring angrily into the darkness of their lavish room.

And if we're not, God help the person who takes you from me.

**xXx**

The next morning was eerily silent. Pale, frightened faces peered out of their windows as the couples were marched through the streets. The couples themselves remained silent, doing their best to be strong-for their loved ones, if no one else. The reality of the situation had set in-everyone there was going to lose their lover. Even the victor would not come out unscathed, but would exit the arena alone, and broken. With heavy thoughts, and heavier hearts, they were escorted to the training facility. And on the train that took them there, they planned.

So began the one-hundredth Hunger Games-the fourth Quarter Quell.

* * *

Well, there it is, folks.

Any ideas? Questions? Comments?

Feel free to ask! Next chapter coming soon, with the real beginning of this story.


	2. Chapter 1

Well, here it is-the official beginning to our story! See if you can catch the references to characters who will not be appearing in this story. Not that they're hard to find. You'll get to know a couple of the tributes a little better, and maybe have a few laughs in this chapter. Enjoy it while you can-the story will take a darker turn in the next few chapters.

* * *

"This alone, you're in time for the show;

You're the one that I need, I'm the one that you loathe.

You can watch me corrode like a beast in repose,

'Cause I love all the poison, and away with the boys in the band."

-_My Chemical Romance, "The Sharpest Lives".  


* * *

_

Reality was beginning to set in. Each couple stood awkwardly apart, having just arrived in the training area, distrustful glances filling the air with electricity. Hand in hand, some of them whispered together. Everyone knew what they were supposed to be doing, but none of them wanted to break the silence, the strange tension that made the atmosphere nearly palpable. And that was when it happened. Slowly, slowly, a small blond boy broke from the ranks, and began to walk towards the equipment, a trembling, frightened-looking creature following him. The pair walked over to the knot-tying station, and with a small smile to each other, began expertly tying the rope into intricate tangles that looked strong enough to hold the weight of several men.

With the spell broken, people began to shift, quietly heading off to different stations. But the albino hung back as he watched his blond 'lover' head for the camouflage station. Of course, Vash wasn't nearly stupid enough to head straight for the weapons he knew best. Better to observe, just as Gilbert was doing. However, his eyes, a strange crimson color-so hued because of a mutation in his genes, the same one that had turned his hair shockingly white-were trained on the children that had relieved the rest of them from the burden of going first. They were hardly old enough to be in the Games! Were they really in a relationship, or was it simply some cruel joke by the Capitol? He frowned slightly and stepped forward, making his way casually over to the tots, grinning in a friendly manner as he knelt beside them.

"So I take it you're from District Four then? No one can tie knots like the Fours can." His voice was light; after all, he wasn't trying to trick them; there would be no need. The young ones never lasted very long. If he was lucky, he wouldn't even have to be the one to have to finish them off. They didn't seem to pose much of a threat to Vash or himself-not that people hadn't been surprised by such young tributes in the Games before...

"Yeah, we're from District Four! Where else would we be from? Knot-tying is kid stuff back at home...I knew how to tie a knot before I could walk! At least, that's what Mama Cresta told me anyway, isn't that right, Raivis?"

The boy that had spoken was loud, a little blond with a bright, confident face and shine in his eyes that spoke of boundless hope and belief. However, the boy beside him was nearly the exact opposite. He trembled, and jumped at the mention of his name, darting vaguely lavender colored eyes to glance nervously at the newcomer, nearly tangling his own fingers in his knot in his haste to nod rapidly and go back to being ignored. Gilbert had seen those types before; the kid had obviously been abused, and though he didn't speak a word, his anxious demeanor spoke volumes about the severity of it. With the faintest hint of a frown, Gilbert turned his eyes back to one that had spoken before.

"I see...how clever of you. What's your name, kid? And why do you call her Mama Cresta? Isn't that your real mother?"

A little of the joy in the boy's face disappeared, and he glanced at Raivis, then shrugged some.

"I'm Peter, and this is Raivis. He's my boyfriend...I guess. I promised to take care of him, and I don't really like any girls, so we're just kind of sticking together, you know? Mama Cresta...well, she's the only mother I've ever known. From what she says, though, she's my real Mama's older sister, or something. My mom killed herself before I was old enough to really know her-apparently, she'd always been really unstable, and only got worse after Dad. My dad died before I was born, so Mama Cresta raised me up. And Raivis-well, he fell in with us a few years ago. He doesn't talk much, but..."

Peter glanced at the boy, who was focused so intently on the knot he was working on that he seemed to be unaware anyone was speaking of him. In a whisper, Peter continued, frowning slightly.

"He used to have an older brother, yeah? A real whiz with technology, not really cut out for the fisherman's life. The word is he used to get wasted, and take out all his anger on Raivis-he couldn't be happy, so why should anyone else be? Half-killed him one night, and would've too if the Peacekeepers hadn't heard all the screaming. Needless to say, they got him out quick. Not quick enough, though, I think." He grimaced, tapping his head lightly and forcing a slight tremor into his hands. Gilbert merely nodded, running his pale digits lightly through his own pale hair.

"Damn...that's rough, kid. Think you'll be alright once the Games start?"

The blond laughed, holding up a few of his knots. "As long as we've got rope, me and Raivis can get through anything!"

Gilbert chuckled, standing and ruffling the boy's hair before turning away with a slight grimace. "Keep that attitude, Peter. I'm Gilbert, by the way-if you need a little assistance, give a yell. I'm pretty damn awesome myself." With a light wave, he moved off.

Without glancing at his partner, Vash worked the paint uncertainly across his skin as Gilbert rejoined him. "Don't get too attached." He muttered, frowning at the unsatisfactory mottled appearance his flesh was taking on. The albino merely shrugged some, pressing his fingertips into the black paint and beginning to press it to his face.

"I was just getting to know the opposition, loverboy."

Something like a growl came from the smaller man, but he merely reached for another color. "If you say so. Anything useful?"

Gilbert turned to the blond, leaning casually against the rack of paints, a triangular nose now painted over his own, along with whiskers extending over his pallid cheeks. "Only that if they don't find some rope fast, they'll both die within the first few days."

Vash glanced up at him, a disapproving look touching at his features. "Can't you take anything seriously?"

"What? This _is_ me being serious."

"God help us."

Gilbert wrinkled his feline nose and shrugged lightly. "Loosen up some. You're not worried about this camouflage stuff anyway. I know you already know how to do it like a pro."

A light shrug. It was true, though. Vash had been practicing with camouflage for years-this terrible paint job he was doing on himself was nowhere near his actual skill level. He was watching the other tributes, glancing up now and then in the mirror, but never to check his own reflection. "They don't know that."

"Well, they will if you keep staring so intently at them. You're terribly obvious."

"W-what? I am not!"

"Really? Because if you hadn't been staring so hard across the room, you might have noticed what I painted on your face roughly five minutes ago."

Vash's eyes immediately darted to his own reflection, lips parting in surprise as he was greeted with a large smiley face on his left cheek, appearing on his right in the mirror. "W...when did you..."

"If you'd have been paying attention you would have known." Without warning, the albino reached over and drew a large heart on the man's right cheek, wrapping his arms around him to do so.

"W-why you-! Get off of me!"

"Is that any way to treat your lover?"

"You heard me!"

"Aww, but snookum-_Ow_!"

Gilbert rubbed the side of his face, smearing his whiskers as he pouted on the floor, gazing up at the furiously blushing blonde. "Now keep your damn hands off me, you pervert!"

But people were staring; Vash could feel their eyes. And so with a light sigh, he stiffly held his hand out to the albino. "...at least while we're in public..._darling_." He averted his eyes to keep from having to see the smug grin on the other's face, merely breathing a soft sigh of relief as he heard the other tributes slowly go back to the tasks they were working at.

"Fuck, Vash-you've really got to work on that." Gilbert was right beside him in the mirror, carefully dabbing his whiskers back on over the already-developing bruise. Despite all his bravado, Gilbert was actually rather fragile-an unexpected consequence of his mutated genes. The look of regret in Vash's expression would be all the apology he got, naturally-he expected nothing more from the man.

"Yeah, yeah. Just...don't surprise me like that."

"A little spontaneity is good for the heart."

"Not if it gives you a heart attack."

Gilbert parted his lips to respond, but training was up for the day. Vash wiped the paint from his skin while the albino proudly marched out, whiskers and all. They made their way to their room, and Gilbert burst out laughing.

"What's so...oh _no_."

One bed occupied the room, and Gilbert shrugged, already making his way towards it. "What's the big deal? We had to share a bed back at my place!" His shirt came off, tossed carelessly in a random direction.

Vash groaned. "Can't you let a room stay clean for five minutes? It's no wonder your place was trashed!"

"Don't get your panties in a wad, toots! This is Capitol-level luxury. Someone will pick it up, wash it, and fold it nice and neat, so well even you won't be able to complain about it!"

With a slight shake of his head, Vash turned off the lights and wondered idly if they could make it to the Games without one of them ending up strangled to death in the night.

* * *

That's it for Chapter One!

I hope it was worth forcing yourself through the Prologue to get here.

As always, I'd love to hear any input you may have. Chapter Two is coming right around the corner.


	3. Chapter 2

Ahh! Finally on Winter Break! I apologize for the slight hiatus. I know it's been a while since I updated. But to celebrate my break, here's the new chapter for you! You get to meet our lovely couple's stylist, and see what she has up her sleeves!

The next chapter will come much more quickly than this one, I can assure you. Enjoy!

* * *

"Brother, I was shortsighted!

I ignored your cries...

You really are the chosen one,

the calculated sacrifice!"

-Razia's Shadow, _"The End and the Beginning"._

_

* * *

_Training had been going well. Everyone had been working hard, himself included, and they had learned several new skills that could help them in the arena. But for now, everything was quiet, calm. Gilbert couldn't sleep. He'd been restless all night, and now he sat in their window, staring out as the first rays of twilight began to break through the darkness. The albino man looked tired. Exhausted. And he was. Quite honestly, he'd not slept more than an hour or two every night since they had arrived here. All the rest of his time was spent planning, planning, running every scenario he could imagine through his head. He was struggling without alcohol, but he'd promised himself to stay sober, to not go into the Games dependent on something he would certainly not have. Instead, he occupied his darting thoughts with remnants of memories from past Games he had seen. Every arena was different, but that didn't mean there couldn't be something useful. Perhaps similar plants or animals, a repeat in muttations or obstacles, a strategy used, or, or...Long, slightly roughened fingers rubbed repeatedly at the man's temples, trying to ease the throbbing. His normally alcohol-numbed mind was now alive and racing, leaving him staring out the window without seeing, completely absorbed in the pseudo-battles occurring behind his eyes.

A light disruption in the breathing behind him was his only warning that the blond man he shared his room with had woken.

"You're up early." There was a subtle note of surprise in Vash's voice as he approached the window, gazing past the glass instead of at Gilbert. To be honest, he was a little unnerved that he hadn't realized that the other hadn't been in bed...or that he hadn't noticed sooner that the albino hadn't been sleeping regularly.

Gilbert turned from the window with a light shrug, chuckling. "Wanted to see a sunrise for once." He moved from the window, padding across the floor towards the bathroom, his gleeful expression falling a bit once his back was turned to the other male. "Not like I have many left," he muttered, pushing the bathroom door open and turning on the water, beginning to wash his face.

"What was that?" Vash turned from the window after a moment, frowning some and looking towards the bathroom, only to see a smiling, Gilbert come out, flinging a wet towel carelessly towards him. The shorter man immediately reached out to catch it, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Pig."

"Hey, I'm allowed to be messy. Not like they have to put up with me for long, right? Dead man walking here." He chuckled some, flopping back on the bed, stretching luxuriously. Vash looked startled by his words, his fingers curling a little tighter around the towel he held.

Somehow, he'd forgotten to remember that if he got to go home to his Lilli, Gilbert would die. His lips parted to say something-what, he wasn't sure, but anything would do, really-to thank Gilbert again, to say he'd never realized what the man was offering to give up, to...but Vash had never been excellent with words. His skill was with guns, and by the time his jumbled thoughts fell into some semblance of order again, it was too late.

A hard knock on the door alerted them to the presence of the Peacekeepers, and they were swept out of the room, Gilbert half-dressed, wearing only his pants, Vash belatedly letting the towel fall to the floor, his green eyes turning to watch as they led the albino down the opposite hallway he was being walked down.

**xXx**

"You're not putting more of that powder on me."

"But, sir, we mus-"

"No more fucking powder! I'm done with this! You've scrubbed me and painted me and prettied me up all I'm going to allow now, got it? Get the hell away from me with that brush!"

There was a crash as a table was overturned, several pots of color spilling as Gilbert huffed, crossing his arms and fuming. "This is my natural skin tone, alright? I'm a freak, yeah yeah, heard that before. But that's me, alright? Get over it."

His stylists were huddling, trembling before him now, and with a soft sigh, he ran his fingers through his hair, dusting some of the yellow powder out of it, making it appear once more silver, rather than the brushed on blond they had attempted to turn it to. "Aw...come on, don't act that way. I'm not really mad, okay? Here, look, come here, I think you missed a speck of dirt on one of my nails..."

And with a soft sigh, he was back under the ministrations of those three strange creatures from the Capitol.

**xXx**

At the opposite end of the building, Vash sat quietly as his hair was brushed through a final time. Throughout the entire process of being painted and pampered, he had been silent and compliant, doing his best to keep his temper with his mild-mannered stylist, a woman who called herself Lutetia. She was the only stylist for District Two; her companion had mysteriously disappeared a week before the Reaping, and no time had been left to find a replacement. But Vash had found her quite unwilling to speak of that. She was surprisingly normal looking for someone from the Capitol; her hair fell to her shoulders, a silky black, tipped with red, and her skin was untouched, a pale, flawless shade of cream.

"Your fellow tribute is apparently making a real mess of things down the hall." She murmured softly, urging him to stand with a gentle push of her finger at his elbow. She clipped and buckled heavy belts around him, filled with disarmed ammunition. She'd picked up quickly on his taste and styles, and had whipped together a theme she was sure both of tributes from District Two would be agreeable to; and she had been right. Vash had been pleasantly surprised at the lack of flashy, gaudy trinkets, and the minimalist design of their costumes.

"I do not doubt that in the least, Miss Lutetia." He murmured as she brought out face paint in varying shades of greens, browns, and blacks, beginning to paint his face in a camouflaged, war-like facade that accented the stunning green of his eyes and made them brilliant.

"I told you to call me Lutie." A light note of disapproval. "It shouldn't be much to worry about. When I am finished with your paint, I will go deal with him." The slight edge to her voice made Vash smile, just faintly. The woman knew what she was doing.

"Hit him once for me."

"I'll be certain to do that." And with a flourish, he was done, and she was gone, the door closing with a click that rang of a finality he did not want to think about.

And then, all Vash could do was laugh as he heard shouts and crashes from the end of the hall.

**xXx**

Gilbert's fresh bruises were covered with paint that matched Vash's, the two of them suited up in gear reminiscent of a war they never saw, belts with bullets crossed over their pale, scarred chests. Baggy camo pants bunched around their knees, tucked into surprisingly plain black boots. Leather gloves covered their fingers, and Gilbert had a pair of tinted goggles to hide the deep crimson of his eyes, lest it frighten any potential sponsors. He'd fought with their stylist for half an hour keep her from putting contacts in his eyes, and this had been the compromise.

"My eyes look fine. Not like those Capitol freaks don't look weirder than me. I saw a blue chick walking down the hall. _Blue._" He grumbled, fidgeting with a bandage on his upper arm, where Lutetia had hit him; the cloth was smeared in a deep red dye that quite accurately resembled blood. Vash slapped his hand away.

"They consider it stylish. Stop picking at that or it will come off. You would look odd to them. You only have to deal with it for a little while; can't you be still for five minutes?" The man sighed in frustration, swatting at his hand once more as the albino started moving the belts.

"They feel weird! And stop hitting me, damn you!" Gilbert inched slightly away from the other, pouting and crossing his arms, looking dejectedly to the side. Vash merely rolled his eyes and looked around the room; the parade was no different from the training in that the Tributes seemed to be keeping purposefully away from everyone else. It was odd; even those from the Career Districts seemed to be keeping away. Perhaps it was because they'd chosen the lovers from each area, and not the fighters.

Except for in District Two. His blue eyes slid once more to Gilbert. Logically, if he calculated their chances, they'd be much more willing to sacrifice each other, because they weren't romantically involved. Right?

But wasn't Gilbert's professed purpose to protect him in these Games?

If that was truly the case, that meant that only Vash was willing to sacrifice his partner. How heartless that sounded, when he put it to himself like that. But if it meant he could return to his Lilli...

Vash had to blink a few times to register the gloved hand waving in front of his face, the annoyed albino in front of him gesturing towards their carriage, lips moving without sound. A light shake of his head, and Vash started moving towards the carriage, sound returning to the world.

"...the fuck were you thinking about? We've got to go, we're the second ones out, dumbass!"

Any retort was silenced as they climbed atop their carriage, balancing easily there, back to back as they had been instructed to do, large guns balanced on their hips, left arms hooked. After all, they had to make it look good for the spectators.

The doors opened for the second time. When had the tributes from District One gone? He'd missed it...But there they were, ahead of them, decked in shimmering whites and golds. A female stood atop the black carriage, dancing in the arms of a man in an expensive and exquisite looking suit, both swaying to music no one else could hear. The woman was what caught the eye though, beautifully clad in a wedding dress. Vash could almost hear the sighing and sobbing of the Capitol women, their hearts breaking for the lovely bride and groom.

It was a clever ploy, and all of the tributes knew it.

A hush fell over the crowd as their carriage entered the limelight, the spectators appearing shocked at the sudden, harsh transition from bright, happy memories of weddings and dancing, balls and riches, to stark, cold reality, the pair of them standing rigidly together, expressions grim. Perfect semblances of soldiers, going to their deaths; and that was what they were, weren't they? Lutetia had done her job well.

As one, they raised their guns, as earlier instructed, and fired into the air.

The crowd gasped as one as what the couple thought had been blank shells exploded in the air, a shimmering picture appearing above them of a flower, a lily blooming over their heads, before slowly curling in on itself and wilting, showering them with sparkling ash, making their skin seem to glow under the lights.

A resounding cheer went up from the crowd, and some of the tension eased from Vash's back as he felt Gilbert relax some as well.

Lutetia had done her job _quite _well.

* * *

I hope it was worth the wait! The next chapter will be coming soon, and we'll finally begin the Games!

I'm always glad to hear suggestions and comments; drop some off!


	4. Chapter 3

And here is Chapter 3!

Chapter 4 will come as quickly as I can manage while working around school.

Do enjoy, please!

* * *

"It's over,

No longer-

I feel it growing stronger.

I live to die another day...

Until I fade away."

-_Breaking Benjamin, "Until the End"._

* * *

His breath came out in a rush, and he wiped his palms lightly against the suit he was in; he'd tried gleaning information from the material earlier and learned only that it was rough on the outside, silky on the inside, and a little heavier than he would have liked if he would need to be running or climbing. It wasn't much trouble for his awesome self, but it might slow Vash down, perhaps. Gilbert's head was spinning, and at the worst possible time. His stylist-what had she called herself? Loony? That seemed accurate-was pushing him half-heartedly towards a tube. The lack of alcohol was getting to him, and for a brief moment, he couldn't remember what the tube was for, only that he didn't want to get into it.

"Hey, just let me, I forgot something in the...stop shoving, I'm going, I'm going!"

Reluctantly he stepped onto the pad. The woman in front of him stepped forward, her face suddenly twisting in concern as there was a tinny rustle from her ear piece; she covered the microphone and stepped forward with her hand outstretched, but they were out of time. Her voice was swept away from him as he was pushed upwards suddenly, towards the light.

"Get to the ou-!"

He looked down, but all he could see was the burnished silver beneath his feet. What had she been trying to say? Would it help him? Ah, what was he going on about, the woman was crazy. And entirely too strong for her own good, he remembered, rubbing lightly at a barely visible bruise on his cheek, left over from the parade fiasco. But that wasn't what he should be focusing on, and he was reminded of that as he was suddenly thrust into the open air, at the same time as he heard several other metal clicks all around him. He blinked his eyes rapidly to adjust them-not because the arena was very bright, but because it was very dim. His nose was clogged with the scent of forest; it was damp, and hot, and if Gilbert had ever been to a tropical island, he would imagine this would be what it would feel like. In a matter of seconds he was drenched with sweat, and he looked around.

To his right was that elegant bastard from the parade, the one who'd made such a show with his wife, said woman standing on the platform directly beside him. She looked much different now, hair tied back to keep it off her face, dressed in the same garb he was, and not sparing him a glance. A shame; she was kind of pretty. His eyes slid back to the man, who he noted with pleasure looked distinctly uncomfortable, well-cared-for hair clinging in strands to his sweat-slick cheeks, glasses just now beginning to unfog from the sudden change in temperature. None of them dared move too much; they'd all seen what happened to Tributes who accidentally stepped off the platform before they were released.

His eyes shifted to the left, where Vash stood, upright and serious as always, his normal expression unchanged, green eyes locked intensely on...the Cornucopia. Of course. Eyes on the prize at all times; that was how the man operated.

"_Ladies and Gentleman! Let the One-Hundredth Hunger Games...begin!_"

Wait. On the...oh, he wouldn't. Sixty seconds; that was all he had.

"Vash. _Vash._" He whispered urgently, trying to get the other's attention. The petite man twitched lightly but stayed in the same position, body tensed, waiting. "Shouldn't we _discuss_ this or-"

Too late. The gong sounded, and everything was a rush of motion. Gilbert flung himself, trying to tackle the blond and missing by inches that might as well have been miles, landing hard on the ground with a mouthful of moss that he was sure he didn't want to be eating. He came up spluttering, seeing the two little Tributes from Four go scampering off into the forest with what looked like a backpack; fast little devils. The girl from One was in the thick of things, already almost to the Cornucopia, Vash hot on her heels; the man from One was nowhere to be seen. What a coward, leaving his wife like that!

With a low growl, Gilbert stumbled to his feet, running as fast as he could to catch up to who were quickly shaping up to be the Career Tributes; Vash, himself, the brunette woman from One, and a small, quick man he was assuming was from Three was carefully snatching things from the edges just outside of the Cornucopia itself, avoiding the main fighting. A blonde was already inside the Cornucopia-Gilbert was pretty sure he was from District Five; with any luck, maybe he was suffering from alcohol withdrawals worse than his. But he looked fit, and dangerous, and was out of the Cornucopia with a backpack and something under his arm before the woman from One got there. She made a grab at him as he passed, but he elbowed her quickly, sending her crashing to the ground. Gilbert felt a brief moment of sympathy, before she grabbed a dagger and threw it at the blonde's head, just missing him.

Right. Everyone was trying to kill each other.

His eyes flicked restlessly, trying to account for all of the Districts. Neither of the Tributes from Six were around; they'd probably done as Four had and grabbed what they could from the edges. The female Tribute from Seven darted out from the trees, grabbing the knife the Tribute from One had thrown; and her eyes locked on him, her lips lifting in a slow, cold smile that sent a shiver down Gilbert's spine; but just as soon as he blinked, she was gone. The male Tribute from Seven was nowhere to be seen-that worried him. He'd been a big man, one easily suited to being a Career, but he hadn't seen him since the gong sounded. Perhaps he wasn't as tough as he looked.

He couldn't see either Tribute from Eight; that made sense, at least. However, he couldn't see either of the Tributes from Nine either, and that _did _worry him. Those two were hunters, perfectly adapted to an arena like this. The heat was the biggest concern right now; it made them all sluggish, caused the air to stick in their lungs, making them cough. But he had to focus; the real threats were fighting it out at the Cornucopia.

He didn't see anyone from District Ten; that made sense, too. Simple herders were not used to fighting, but they could be pretty resilient. They would be something to watch out for in the long run. District Eleven had a contender; a tan-looking man with dark hair and eyes, determinedly sifting through the weapons just outside the Cornucopia. He grabbed a sword, raising it and looking towards Gilbert with a grim expression. He took one step towards him, and Gilbert's crimson eyes darted around, desperately searching for a weapon, but those were closer to the golden prize, just out of reach. So instead, he took a step back.

And blinked as the man yelped, biting back a scream at what seemed the last moment, something dark blooming across the arm holding the sword, making his fingers spasm. He dropped the blade staring for just a moment in shock at the arrow that had appeared in his shoulder before grabbing the sword in his other hand and running for the woods.

A light sigh of relief escaped Gilbert, but it didn't last long. If someone had a bow, then they were all sitting ducks. He had to get to Vash. He made a run for the Cornucopia, hearing loud shouts from within; the real fighting had begun. His mind was racing. He had to know who was fighting, and who was simply surviving.

The number of fighters was slightly higher this year than normal, which seemed ironic to him. There was himself, and Vash; the woman from District One, and the man from District Three; the large blond from District Five, and whoever had the bow, someone he was assuming was from District Nine; District Eleven had one, the man who'd been shot, and that was all, wasn't it? That meant there were seven. But as he rounded the corner, he took a quick a moment to count; Six. Six besides himself, and not including the sniper in the woods. That meant there were eight; who had he not counted?

He spotted her quickly, a pale girl who looked more suited to painting than to fighting, exchanging quick blows with the dark-haired man from Three. She had to be one of the Capitol Tributes, and she fought with a stiff, practiced feel, as if she'd only ever used a sword in a classroom, which was probably true. She wielded a thin, saber-like blade that seemed almost clumsy in her hands, but somehow, she got a hit in, and the man from Three stumbled back, seeming surprised; it was all she needed, and Gilbert watched as she took advantage of the brief respite, running for the woods. Why had she not finished him off? It seemed like no one really wanted to kill each other...

Just as the thought crossed his mind, a scream ripped its way through the forest, followed by shouts, and what sounded like something very large crashing through the trees. Gilbert's heart leaped into his throat; the Tributes, apparently, weren't all they had to worry about, even this early in the Games.

Finally, he made his way to the opening of the Cornucopia, and began scrambling for some sort of weapon. Vash was there, alright, but so was the woman, and she apparently was much more durable than Gilbert had given her credit for, because she currently had Vash on the ground with a sword at his throat.

"Get off of him!" He yelled, startling her and causing her to look up, giving Vash to opening he needed. He twisted in a way Gilbert thought must have been painful and planted his boot in the woman's stomach, kicking her off of him and sending her stumbling back, tripping over the many items here, crying out and clutching her hand to her chest as she fell, blood pouring from it. Vash snatched up a pistol and a bowie knife, glaring at him.

"Grab something and let's get out of here, idiot!" Gilbert opened his mouth to give the blond a piece of his mind, since he'd just saved his ass and all, but instead grabbed a long sword, buckling it clumsily at his waist and snatching up a dagger, slipping it into his boot. That brunette was stirring again, and to be honest, he'd seen enough of her today to last a lifetime. Even if it would be a relatively short lifetime.

* * *

As always, I'll do my best to hurry along with the next chapter.

R&R, please!


End file.
